Joey-poey, my shweetheart,&rdquo SJ cooed in that annoying baby voice of hers, &ldquoWe&rsquore not going in that howwible plane, my baby. Someone told me dogs were allowed on 1st AC, so we&rsquore taking the Wajdhani to Cal&rdquo
&ldquoWoof&rdquo I faked it just to please her. Whoever said &lsquoit&rsquos not the destination, it&rsquos the journey that matters,&rsquo is a mutt. Ask me. I was only eight weeks old when I was put in a box and transported from balmy Bombay to freezing Delhi. Cool, I had thought at first, when I was the only one from the kennel to be driven off to the airport. Before long documents (&lsquowhite boxer dog, brown patch on backside&rsquo) were signed and the next thing I knew I was tossed into the back of a tractor trailer and driven to the tarmac, a place worse than hell where aircrafts whined and howled like screaming banshees.
The flight was a nightmare. People who complain about cattle class should be shoved into the hold. Try two-and-a-half hours shivering in that dark, windowless cell, the engines roaring so loud not even God can hear a poor pup&rsquos whimpers. Barely three weeks later I was packed off into that infernal box again. And then again and again. And then I grew up, became a strong 23kg dog that lived up to the name of my breed. I wasn&rsquot going to take this nonsense sitting down. They had to haul me kicking and screaming if they were going to put me in that hold again and they knew, by God they knew I&rsquod take a few good men down with me. So they tried a different tack.
A month before travel SJ set about making arrangements. No one seemed to know anything. Travel agents feigned ignorance despite her patiently reading out the &lsquoLuggage Rules&rsquo, section 77-A, clauses 1 and 2 of the Indian Railways Act. Undeterred, she got the number of the Railways PRO. When he heard SJ was a journalist planning to do a story he tried gently to dissuade her. &ldquoPlease book yourself on another train, madam. It&rsquos difficult to get a coupé on the Rajdhani.&rdquo
&ldquoPrecisely my problem. I&rsquove booked a month in advance, the rules say you can take a dog on 1st AC but if someone objects you have to either put the dog in a dog box or get off. The only way to hedge your bets is to request a two-berther, but there isn&rsquot any way to request one officially. So that is what I am asking you now.&rdquo
&ldquoEr, just not possible.&rdquo
&ldquoWhy&rdquo SJ asked doggedly.
&ldquoIt&rsquos because we have to keep the coupé for ministers or judges who may travel last minute.&rdquo
&ldquoBut I&rsquove gone over the railway rules. Where does it say that&rdquo
&ldquoIt doesn&rsquot,&rdquo he confessed. &ldquoWe have to do it because it&rsquos always been done.&rdquo
Well, SJ&rsquos been around long enough to know if politicians and judges can throw their weight around, so can journalists. &ldquoOK,&rdquo she said coolly. &ldquoThat will be my story, then, how in the first few months of the first woman railway minister&rsquos tenure, a woman and her female dog were denied access when she was travelling to Bengal to see her mother.&rdquo We got the coupé.
The trip to New Jalpaiguri was more difficult. The clerk at the Parcel Office refused to budge. &ldquoHow do I know you have a coupé&rdquo
&ldquoYou don&rsquot and neither do I,&rdquo SJ growled.
&ldquoI can&rsquot issue the dog a ticket until it is so.&rdquo SJ threw a fit. People stopped and stared. &ldquoPlease,&rdquo the clerk pleaded, &ldquoI have only a few months to retire, I don&rsquot want to lose my job.&rdquo
&ldquoI have read the rules,&rdquo SJ snarled, slapping her press card on his table, &ldquoand you might if you don&rsquot issue a ticket.&rdquo We got my ticket but didn&rsquot get a coupé. Luckily our co-passenger was a kind gent who had a dog of his own and didn&rsquot mind.
The journey back to Delhi was easier. We arrived at Howrah Station, strolled over to the Parcel Office set up in a booth near the train. When the clerk had the temerity to ask whether we had a coupé, SJ pointed an indignant finger at the chart. The clerk smiled obsequiously and issued my ticket. We got into the train and headed straight for cabin &lsquoF&rsquo. I looked at SJ approvingly. She&rsquod cut the stress and booked us a four-berther all to ourselves. The attendant would soon come around and I&rsquod ask for the roast chicken. It&rsquos a dog&rsquos life, I tell you.
(As told to Sonia Jabbar)
